


A Day With Beginning And End

by indiefic



Category: Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: F/M, after the curse, day in the life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5436419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic





	A Day With Beginning And End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thimblerig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/gifts).



He’d been sitting there for a while when he saw her, creeping on tiptoe out the door, and climbing on top of the wall with a practiced ease that was ill suited to her new station as wife of Aquila’s Captain of the Guard.  But she wasn’t a wife.  Not just yet.  

 

She perched there, watching the eastern horizon, as the sky grew progressively lighter.  He saw, more than heard, her small gasp as the sun finally crested the horizon and dawn was upon the day.

 

“Milady,” he said.

 

Spinning, she faced him with an almost animal grace, a reminder of the life she’d lived until so very recently.   She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, and then all at once, she relaxed, hand pressed over her heart.  “Philippe,” she said softly, giving him a wry smile.  “You scared me.”

 

“Pardon, milady,” he said, bowing.  “I meant no harm.”

 

“You did no harm, little mouse,” she said fondly, jumping down from the wall.  She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to warm herself.  “After so long, it is a gift to watch the dawn.”

 

He nodded.  “Yes, of course, milady,” he said.  “The Captain, he watches the sunset.”

 

She looked at him for a long moment.  “Does he?”

 

Philippe nodded and for once, it was the absolute truth.  “I swear on my mother’s - “

 

“Don’t swear, Phillippe,” she said dryly, turning and heading back to the house.  She stopped after a few paces and looked at him.  “Well, come on,” she said.  “I’m sure you need breakfast.”

 

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother, milady,” Philippe said with badly feigned reluctance, eagerly following her inside.

 

The inside of the small house was warm and tidy.  Isabeau lived with her uncle, Henri, an aging bachelor who doted on her fondly.  He was in quite poor health and Philippe suspected that Isabeau’s trials had contributed to his decline.  Philippe didn’t know what would happen to Henri once Isabeau and Navarre married.  Neither of them had shared that information with him, though that was to be expected.  They were both quite secretive individuals in Philippe’s experience.

 

Isabeau handed Philippe a loaf of bread and a knife as she took a hard cheese out of the larder and dropped two eggs into the pot bubbling over the fire.  She stood before the pot, counting silently - though her lips moved - until she scooped the eggs out with a long handled wooden spoon and set one before her place and one before his.  Placing a small crock of honey on the sturdy table, Isabeau joined him and they tucked in.  The eggs were cooked to perfection, the whites set, but the yolks warm and sticky.

 

“How is he?” Isabeau asked quietly.

 

“The Captain?” Philippe asked brightly.  “Very well, milady.  Very well.  He’s been busy, of course.  Cleaning house as it were, getting rid of any of the guard who were loyal to the Bishop or Marquet.”

 

“And the new Bishop,” she asked.  “What about him?  What have your little ears heard?”

 

“He seems to be a fine and just man, milady,” Philippe said firmly.

 

Isabeau did not look convinced, and Phillippe couldn’t really blame her.  Not after the fate she suffered at the hands of the previous Bishop.  They finish their breakfast, passing the time with idle conversation.  He regaled her with stories of Navarre’s latest triumphs and her eyes sparkled like sapphires.

 

* * *

 

Isabeau pressed a gentle kiss to Henri’s forehead.  He was unwell, unable to rise from bed.  “Rest easy, uncle,” she said softly.  “I shall return shortly.”  

 

She collected her basket, and Philippe, and headed for the market.  As usual, Philippe chattered away with next to no encouragement from her.  She already knew that most of his stories were untruths, but she did so appreciate the fact that he seemed to try to stick to the spirit of actual events these days.

 

The market was full and bustling.  It was the quarterly market, where vendors from all over the provence traveled to sell their wares and barter for supplies.  Isabeau stopped before the cart of a fabric merchant, eyeing the beautiful sapphire silk.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

She spun and looked up at Navarre, giving him a slow smile, blushing.  “I do,” she admitted.  “Though it is far too fine for me.”

 

He frowned at her.  “Nothing is too fine for you, milady.”

 

She knew he meant it.  Even on the road, he would procure for her the most beautiful gowns, knowing he would never see her wear them.  It had felt ridiculous to her, to be outfitted so, when she typically spent the night prowling the countryside, searching for a wolf.  But she had worn the dresses.  Because they were signs of his affection, as much as when the wolf pressed his muzzle into her palm.

 

However, she no longer needed frivolous dresses to remind her of his devotion.  She had Navarre, in the flesh, and she far preferred him to his gifts.  She turned away from the cart, continuing down the crowded path.  She knew, without turning around, that Navarre shadowed her.  She stopped before the cart of a ribbon merchant.  Her hair was far too short, still, for ribbons.  But one day it would be long enough.  And one day, perhaps, she would have a daughter whose hair she would braid.  Such thoughts had her blushing again.  

 

“How did you find me?” she asked quietly.

 

“Milady,” he said quietly, “I could track you anywhere.”

 

She looked up at him, thinking of the young girl she was when she first met him, thinking how his words might have frightened that girl.  But Isabeau was not frightened.  “And I, you, my lord,” she replied.

 

He swallowed harshly and forced himself to look away.  A frown puckered his brow.  “Where is the mouse?  He’s not to leave your side.”

 

“He’s here,” Isabeau said gently.  “Imperius needed his help moving casks of ale.”  

 

She turned and continued down the row.  At the very end was a tanner’s wagon.  And sitting on a sturdy perch were two raptors, a hawk and an eagle.  They were both magnificent creatures.  Isabeau turned her head toward Navarre, but didn’t actually look at him.  “Do you miss her?”

 

“Miss who, milady?” he asked carefully, though she knew he understood her.

 

“Your hawk,” she said gently.  She finally turned and looked at him.  

 

He watched her with those piercing blue eyes.  “I do,” he said quietly, almost reverently.  “But I would not wish her back for anything.”

 

Isabeau ducked her head and smiled.  She turned down another row, Navarre a half step behind her, moving silently, shrouded in his black cloak.  

 

“And you, milady,” he asked quietly, “do you miss your wolf?”

 

She smiled and glanced over her shoulder, grinning at him.  “Captain, I’ve never felt that my wolf has left me.”  In that moment, she wanted to run, to force him to give chase.  She wanted to feel the wind in her hair, to be free, like a wild thing, with him nipping at her heels.  She wanted him to run her to ground and tumble her in the grass.

 

But she was not a wild thing.  She was a young woman.  Soon to be married to Aquila’s Captain of the Guard.  Soon to be a woman of consequence, a wife and mother.  

 

He shadowed her through the market, past endless tables and carts.  She found the herbs she needed for Henri, a flask of olive oil, two beautiful apples.  Navarre escorted her back to her uncle’s home and she invited him inside.  He looked around before ducking inside.  It was not proper for him to be in her home with Henri so unwell, though she supposed it had been equally improper for Philippe to visit and she had not thought twice about that.

 

Navarre waited at the large kitchen table as she tended to Henri.  When Henri was once again resting comfortably, Isabeau returned to the kitchen.  She cut several slices of bread from the loaf she and Philippe had started that morning.  She then cut several slices from a smoked ham and split one of the apples.  It was a modest meal, but she knew Navarre was accustomed to austerity, even if his large frame never seemed to hint that he went without meals.

 

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, grasping her hands lightly in his own.

 

She laughed.  “I am marrying you,” she said.

 

“No,” he said, clearly frustrated.  “I mean now.  Today.  Let us find Imperius and have the deed done.”

 

Smiling, she gently extricated her hands from his grip.  “We will marry in the spring, as we agreed.”

 

He frowned sullenly.  “For two years,” he said wryly, “I had you at my side night and day.  And now that we can finally touch, finally speak, you are so far away.”

 

“Not so far away,” she said, looking at him from beneath her lashes.  “Never far away, Navarre.”

 

He looked at her and she could tell he was torn between being cross and amused.  She could tell when the amusement won out and he smiled broadly at her.  It warmed her to the tips of her toes and she laughed.

 

After that, he made an effort to keep the conversation light, to ask after her friends and Philippe.  And Imperius as well, though she knew he saw Imperius as often as she did.  He asked after her finances and her uncle’s health.  Part of her hated that she was such a burden to him already.  But she knew to the depths of her soul that he would have it no other way.  He was bound to her, and she to him, regardless of the vows they would speak before the bishop.  He would protect her, as he had always protected her.

 

He helped her, that afternoon, with tasks around the small cottage.  She was certain he was neglecting his duties to keep her company, but she could not bring herself to chase him away.  As he had said, for two years they had been each other’s constant companion, and she did miss him desperately, even when he was a mere walk away.

 

He took the braided rug outside, so she could beat it clean in the brisk winter air.  He fixed some of the thatch that had been damaged by animals.  There was a large stone in the garden which was causing her problems and he employed Goliath’s help to remove it.  They would live here, once they were married, so it behooved him to make improvements now.  

 

Isabeau was covered in dust and sore from the day’s exertions.  Sighing, she brushed the hair back from her forehead, biting down on her bottom lip as she stared at the dilapidated stable.  He stepped up behind her, leaning down so his lips were close to her ear.  “There will be time, my lady,” he said, “to mend all that time has broken.  It does not have to be done today.”

 

She turned and looked up at him, placing her hand on his cheek.  He dipped his head, catching her lips in a tender kiss.  She pulled back before the hunger escaped them both, blinking up at him in the golden afternoon light.  He watched her intently, barely moving and she thought again of her wolf, her mate.

 

Abruptly, she turned, shielding her eyes as she looked toward the setting sun.  “Can you still feel it?” she asked.

 

She could hear his footfalls and she was certain he was purposely making noise as he came to stand behind her again.  “The sunset?” he asked.

 

She nodded without turning to look at him.

 

“I can,” he said quietly.  “Though not as acutely as before.  It seems to weaken a little with each passing day.”  He was quiet a moment and then spoke again, “With you at my side, I barely notice it.”

 

She leaned back against the solid wall of his chest, watching as the sun sank lower and lower.  “I used to welcome it as much as I dreaded it,” she said quietly.  “Those moments that brought me so close to you, but kept us eternally apart.”

 

His hands found her hips, resting there lightly and he pressed a kiss to the back of her head, breathing her name against her scalp.  She turned her head toward him and he nuzzled against her ear.  “You are my sun and my moon now, Isabeau.  Now and forever.”

 

She turned in his embrace, looking up at him, smiling.  “And you mine, Navarre.”

 

END STORY


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